The Bottom Drawer
by EspeonAngel
Summary: Mello was always suspicious about the bottom drawer on his nightstand. He never told Matt why he wrote a letter to no one in particular and stuffed it in the drawer. So what happens when someone replies? And what happens when Mello writes back? AU DNxIY


A/N: I have been in a Death Note mood lately. Hmm. Blame the remake.

Disclaimer: Death Note - Original story by Tsugumi Ohba and art by Takeshi Obata. InuYasha - All rights reserved to Rumiko Takahashi.

* * *

**Prologue**

_Dear sir or madam…_

"No."

_To whomever it applies…_

"No."

_Salutations…_

"_Hell_ no."

"Mello, what the hell are you doing?"

Mello turned in his chair, pen in hand, to find Matt staring at him with arms crossed and a quizzical expression, one eyebrow raised. His suitcase was neatly by the door, packed and ready to go. Mello's was the opposite – empty and messily opened on his bed.

"We're leaving in an hour, you know? You won't possibly be ready by then. Get a grip, Mel and start packing. I'm sure your emo poetry can wait."

"It's not poetry!" Mello snarled. "And it sure as hell isn't emo!"

Matt raised another eyebrow as he sat on the bed. "Oh, really? What is it then – a protest? It's a little late for that, Mel, don't you think?"

"If you _must_ _know_, it's a letter."

"A letter?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, a letter."

"…"

Matt shook his head, getting out his GameBoy. "Whatever. I won't interrupt you while you write a love letter to a house that'll soon get demolished."

"Shut up! It's not a love letter!" Mello roared. "And stop saying that!"

Matt momentarily looked up from his game. "What? That the House is gonna get demolished?" Menacing laughter suddenly echoed from the speakers and Matt winced. "Damn. You made me lose."

"Believe me, I'm glad I did." Mello rolled his eyes as he turned back to the desk. He slowly started to tap the pen to his chin, words forming in his mind. Putting the pen to paper, he set to work.

_April 12, 2004_

_Whoever's reading this at the moment, I pray that you won't set this note down. Maybe you found this note in a pile of rubber and decided to check it out. Maybe all that was left standing was this nightstand and curiosity got the better of you and you decided to open the bottom drawer. Or maybe – hopefully – although the demolishing was scheduled for the 10__th__ of May, the order never went through and Wammy's House is still standing. In that case, welcome new resident to the previous House of Wammy, an orphanage built by its founder, Quillsh Wammy, to house brilliant and talented children with no families to then send them off into the world with a purpose and new found confidence. Lame, right? But as corny as it might sound, this place was our home – _my _home – and the fact that we were forced to evacuate makes me bite my tongue in anger. In case you don't know the story and are confused out of your mind and thinking "Who's the freak writing this?" I'll sum up the basics. As I mentioned earlier, our founder was Quillsh Wammy who, in his younger days, patented numerous inventions of his. With the money he received from his patents, he founded orphanages all over the world named Wammy's House to fulfill the purpose previously mentioned above. This one here had been his most loved and treasured orphanage. Sadly, Wammy had passed away no more than a year ago and, with him, went his son, the man who had inherited all his money. Unfortunately for Wammy's House, that money was what paid all the housing and bills. It had been a prime example of the Butterfly Effect, really. Our founder dies with his son and with them goes all the money that pays for us staying here. Not only that, but due to the fact that we could not keep up with our bills and due dates, it had been proclaimed better to just tear down the house. And so, here I am, trying to desperately rush this letter before we are forced to leave in a few minutes. Now, if this letter's never found, I have just wasted precious time writing this while I could have been packing. So, for my sake, please pick up this letter and read it all the way through. Unless you don't read English, which would kind of be a "What the hell?" moment, but whatever._

_Oh, but in case you want to know whose letter it was that you just read, the name I go by is Mello. Whether I'm known by the time you read this or not is not important (well, maybe a tad bit important). All that matters is that this was read by at least one person and that I left behind my legacy. Whether it's read or not depends completely on timing._


End file.
